


Ralash-tanaf na' t'nash-veh k'diwa

by thesadchicken



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Married Life, Multilingual, Music, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Language, lots of fluff and space husbands being husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: Taking a few days off to visit Vulcan together is both relaxing and educational - despite the sunburns. Jim is learning to speak Vuhlkansu. Spock has something to share with his husband.Married!Spirk fluff written for the Babel Trek Open Project.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 45
Kudos: 180
Collections: The Babel Trek Open Project





	Ralash-tanaf na' t'nash-veh k'diwa

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my friend [GrumpyBonesey](https://grumpybonesey.tumblr.com/), who took the time to beta for me even though they're extremely busy writing 1701 fics of their own. How badass is that?
> 
> The title means "Music for my Beloved".  
> English Translations in hover text and in end notes.

Windswept dunes shined copper and gold under the Vulcan sun – reaching out endlessly towards the horizon. The desert was silent. The sand was still in the east, where the plains of Gol spread at the feet of mighty stone statues, somber relics of another lifetime. In contrast, only a few degrees to the west, the sand stirred above the rise of a canyon.

Barely grazing the ground, the hovercar whizzed through the landscape. Sunlight flashed on its silver roof, glinting off of the gravel specks that the vehicle kicked up in its wake. A le-matya cried in the distance, disturbed by the intrusion. They continued on their way, disappearing into the depths of the desert.

Inside the vehicle, the computer voice spoke; “Mohrn -- Ha-tal. Hatanik torek ik nam-tor bolayatik rompotau h’akiv.”

In the front passenger seat, Jim Kirk closed his eyes and frowned. “This one is tricky,” he muttered.

Spock took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at his husband. “Di’kish-torek,” he said, and the computer made a chirping sound.

Jim, eyes snapping open, slapped his hands against his thighs, huffing in exasperation. “Spock! I told you not to give me the answers!”

“I assumed you were in need of help,” Spock turned back to the hovercar’s controls, entering a series of commands.

“How am I going to learn if you keep cheating for me?” Jim complained. He shook his head; “It’s alright. I think I’ve had enough for today, anyway. I’ve been doing this since we left.”

“You have been quite diligent about your lessons,” Spock agreed.

A smile spread across Jim’s face, and he turned to watch Spock’s perfect profile outlined against the Vulcan desert beyond the window. _Love_ and _pride_ and _admiration_ flowed through their bond, and Jim’s eyes softened as he let himself bask in the glow of their mutual affection.

“I read that guide you gave me,” he said after a while. “It says this region is free of modern transportation, to preserve the silence.”

Spock stared at the dunes ahead. “We do not expect outworlders to make such an arduous journey through the desert on foot.”

“I could have done it,” Jim shrugged.

“The journey would have taken upwards of 3.6 hours at the average rate of human walking. An unnecessary use of our time.”

“But that’s not really why you insisted on taking the hovercar.”

Spock did not answer. For a moment, the low humming of the engines seemed to be the only sound in the world.

“You think I’m too old,” Jim declared.

“You are only fifty-one years of age, this should hardly be considered a point of worry,” Spock protested.

Jim tried to suppress a teasing smile. “No, no – I understand. You don’t think I’d survive a taxing _three point-six_ hours out there.”

Spock raised a single eyebrow. “The temperature this time of year often reaches 60 degrees Celsius,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Hmm,” Jim winced, “I see your point.”

The computer chimed, interrupting their banter. “ Betau shaht t’halovaya ,” it announced.

Beyond the windshield, the desert was starting to give way to bare, rocky slopes. Hidden in the curves and folds of the mountain ahead, a building rose above the reddish rock. Its shape was barely discernible, blending well into its surroundings. Pebbly steps led up to a platform where three windows and a set of double doors were built into the structure.

Twirling Vulcan letters were carved into the stone just above the entrance.

“Vuhlkansu Trahokna t’Ralash-tanaf,” Spock read.

“Vulcan Institute of Musical Arts,” Jim translated, earning himself a nod of praise from his bondmate.

The hovercar came to a stop a few feet away from the building. As the dust settled around the vehicle, Jim unfastened his seat-belt and reached for the door. He paused for a second, looking up at the crimson sky. Taking a few days off to visit Vulcan with his husband had been both relaxing and educational, and Jim had enjoyed their stay – even if he was still sunburnt from the walk they’d taken on their first day.

“Do you wish for me to park closer?” Spock asked.

Jim shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Let’s just not linger outside – not until the sun sets.”

They walked to the front of the building, Spock leading the way up the stairs and through the large doors. In typical Vulcan fashion, the Institute’s hyper-modern interior clashed with its somber exterior. The floors and walls were of a pearlescent gray, and several holo-screens lined the reception counter. The sound of instruments being tuned could be heard from above, and somewhere in the distance someone was singing.

Entering the lobby through sliding glass doors, a tall Vulcan in beige robes greeted them with the Vulcan salute. “Spock, son of Sarek, I welcome you to the Institute. We come to serve,” he said.

Spock returned the salute. “Sonok,” he inclined his head in acknowledgment, “Your service honours us. This is my bondmate, James Kirk. We are here to see the exhibition on pre-Surakian harps and to attend the Hymnal Music concert.”

Sonok’s eyes fell on Jim, and he lifted an eyebrow. “Thinoi du ish-veh wak, Spohkh,” he said, turning back to Spock, “Ri tor nash-veh dva-tor ish kup komihn ken-tor mash heh u’bal svi’ Vuhlkansu ralash-tanaf.”

Jim felt his ears burning. “ Nam-tor du yeht sos’eh. Nam-tor nash-veh la’ oren-tor hi,” he declared, gaze never wavering from Sonok.

Spock lifted his chin proudly, and Sonok’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Ish olozhikaik,” he muttered, before leaving the room, accelerating when he reached the hallway.

“Do you know that jerk?” Jim asked Spock as they watched him leave.

“Regrettably, yes,” Spock answered, “We were schoolmates. Even as children, we did not… get along.”

Jim heard the heaviness in Spock’s voice; the weight of the memories there. It was obvious. Jim recalled seeing things through his mind melds with Spock: Vulcan children with sneering eyes, fists and dirt and words that couldn’t be unsaid or unheard.

“I see,” Jim breathed.

“Sonok is one of Vulcan’s foremost musicians, his talents noted throughout the galaxy. However, I believe his career would greatly suffer were his bigotry known.”

Jim’s mind sifted through the statement – the power Spock had over this man’s career, and how much damage he could cause if he only wanted to. It would be revenge, and it would certainly be a well-deserved punishment. But Spock’s heart held no bitterness in it; not for insignificant people like Sonok. Spock was too gentle, too good for such things. And Sonok knew this.

Anger began to well up inside Jim, until cool fingers discreetly brushed against his own. He looked up at his husband, and suddenly all the rage melted away. His Spock was a decorated Starfleet Captain, an instructor at the Academy, respected and admired throughout the Federation. He was safe, happy. That was enough.

Jim pressed his index and middle finger to Spock’s in the ozh’esta. _I’m so proud of you_ , he said through the bond.

Spock answered with a wave of _love_ and _gratitude_ , the feelings enhanced by the physical touch of their skin pressed together. For a moment, Jim considered leaning in and kissing his bondmate, but the presence of a Vulcan woman behind the reception counter dissuaded him.

“So,” he said instead, “the exhibition?”

Spock nodded, leading the way through a corridor to a larger room. Their arms brushed as they walked, causing Jim to smile.

“By the way; how was my accent?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Impeccable,” Spock replied, the corners of his mouth curving upwards.

“Right,” Jim laughed, “I thought you said Vulcans were incapable of lying?”

~

The day was coming to an end, and the red sky had grown pale and pink. Jim and Spock walked out onto the highest platform of the Institute; a natural balcony built by the landscape, which the students used as a recreational area. It overlooked the desert from one side, and tall rust-colored mountains from the other.

Four young people sat cross-legged in the middle of the terrace, some studying with their PADDs in their laps, others meditating. They did not look up as Jim walked past them and sat at the very edge of the cliff, on a rectangular block of stone.

Both the exhibition and the concert had been _fascinating_ , and the Institute itself was a feat of engineering. It left Jim feeling awestruck and peaceful all at once. A contented sigh escaped him as he looked up at the setting sun, half-hidden behind the cliff. Spock sat across from Jim, his teal blue robe flowing around him.

“This is beautiful,” Jim made a sweeping gesture towards nothing in particular.

The temperature was slowly cooling with the later hour, making it comfortable to sit outside. A breeze ruffled Spock’s bangs, and Jim leaned in a little closer.

“You,” he whispered, gently brushing the back of his fingers across Spock’s cheek, “are beautiful.”

Spock slid his hand across the stone, and Jim met him halfway. Fingers intertwined, eyes locked, they sat in perfect silence, the desert a quiet witness to their tenderness.

“I see you borrowed that ancient lyre from the museum,” Jim observed, keeping his voice down so as not to disturb the tranquillity.

Spock reached for the instrument at his side and positioned it against his shoulder. “This belonged to T’Vela, of the Vuch’t’nala house. She was a very famous musician, and perhaps our most important classical music composer.”

“How come you get to borrow her lyre?”

“Before her death, 742 years ago, T’Vela gave her lyre to the Institute, and requested that it be accessible to anyone who desired to play it. She believed music was meant to be shared. Now students and visitors may ask to borrow T’Vela’s lyre, as long as they do not leave the Institute.”

With a flick of his wrist, Spock struck the strings, and the lyre sang. Jim sat back, tilting his head to the side, and smiled. He loved watching Spock play, loved the way those slender fingers hovered over the wood, and the way those dark eyes turned pensive.

Shadows danced over the sand below and the sky grew darker still. Spock tuned the lyre, then played a classical piece Jim had often heard him play at home. Somehow it sounded different here, in the Vulcan desert, with the scent of spices and lingering daylight around them.

Jim bent one knee and rested his elbow on it. This trip was more than just a pleasant vacation. Now that they were living on Earth and working full-time at the Academy, Jim had realized just how little he knew about Vulcan. As a starship captain, there had been no time to stop and play tourist. He’d been too busy aboard the _Enterprise_ , too caught up in their daily adventures, his orders, to get to spend any meaningful time on Spock’s home planet.

Which was why he’d insisted upon spending their vacation on Vulcan. He wanted to learn firsthand about the traditions, the culture, the people – he wanted to see it all through Spock’s eyes, and get to know it the way he should have from the very start.

Spock had never complained before, and he didn’t seem to mind Jim’s unsteady grasp of Vulcan customs. But Jim felt the little ripples of _approval_ that Spock sent through the bond every time he pronounced a Vulcan word correctly.

A solitary star appeared in the evening sky, blinking down at them. Behind the mountains, _T’Khut_ was rising. Spock played another song – one that Jim didn’t recognize. It was soft and slow and yet it filled the air, rising above the shuffling of the students’ feet as they left the balcony.

Jim looked at the dunes, then back at Spock. He remembered his first impression of Vulcan: how rough, how untameable he thought it was. He remembered the violence, the merciless heat, the grit and gravel digging into his skin. He remembered Spock’s body, strong and angry above his own, pushing him into the sand, dragging him into the fire so they could burn together…

How far away that seemed now. Vulcan as he knew it today was a different place – it was warmer, kinder; a world of grace and beauty. Spock had taken him to temples and museums and mountaintops, and never once had Jim felt the thin atmosphere rip the air from his lungs, like it had the first time.

Vulcan through Spock’s eyes was music and starlight and desert landscapes. It was – like Spock himself – gentle and elegant. Perhaps that was the only way Jim could ever see it: through Spock. And sitting here together, listening to the lyre’s peaceful song, Jim couldn’t imagine seeing it any other way.

They were alone under the darkening sky. A tilt of the head, a slight intake of breath, and then Spock started singing. Jim stared at him in awe as the words flowed out, soft and sweet.

“ _Estuhl mos salan eshikh_  
 _Hanuvau yel ne’fi’sef_  
 _Spo’ ug’yel-shen abru’_ Shikhar  
 _Abru’teruklar-ru’lut ish-vesh n’a nash-veh_

 _Etek panu k’wuhli_  
 _Heh wi_  
 _Abru’teruklar-ru’lut ish-vesh n’a nash-veh_  
 _Spo’ ug’yel-shen abru’_ Shikhar.”

The final note echoed around them, lingering in the air for one breathless second before fading, like the last ray of sunlight. Spock’s eyes fluttered shut.

Silence – except for the sound of Jim’s hand tracing circles on the stone. He blinked several times, clearing his throat. “Spock…”

Spock opened his eyes. “Music, much like meditation, is meant to keep the stronger emotions under control. There were times during our first five year mission…”

The words died on his tongue. Silence, again. A shaky sigh, and Jim leaned forward. Spock placed the lyre down behind him.

“You wrote this?” Jim whispered.

Spock nodded. “Among others.”

Jim held Spock’s hand in both of his. “Can I hear them?”

“Yes.”

The words of the song replayed themselves in Jim’s mind, and he felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach. He looked up into Spock’s eyes, swallowing against the rising tide of emotion. “You never told me about this…”

“You knew –”

“Yes, but… not like this.”

Spock’s lips parted, but he said nothing. His eyes fell to Jim’s hands where they held his.

“It is of no consequence now,” he said softly, “You are here, with me” – and then, like he still could not quite believe it – “ _T’hy’la_.”

There was no light in the desert, only the faint glow from the Institute’s windows, painting the sand white. Jim let his forehead rest against his husband’s.

Spock was right; the past was in the past, and they were together now. But the thought of him, alone in his quarters all those years ago; his lyre resting against his shoulder; a melody pouring out of him – and those words, for Jim. Those words, and how he thought Jim would never hear them.

And Jim remembered how that felt. The longing, the loneliness, the trembling hands and stolen glances. There was something bittersweet about the memory, all the wanting, all the needing. How he’d felt when their eyes would meet across the bridge.

Spock had put all of that into music. It was lovely and heartbreaking.

“Sing for me again, please.”

A low hum of agreement, and then Spock’s lips found Jim’s, slowly; _we have all the time in the world_. A touch that became a kiss, then another, and another. The bond thrummed with _gratitude_ and _devotion_ and _love_.

A breathless whisper, under the stars, “Nam-tor du kanok-vei tor nash-vesh…”

* * *

_wonderful art and calligraphy by[yel-halansu ♡](https://yel-halansu.tumblr.com/post/621914956717277184/estuhl-mos-salan-eshikh-hanuvau-yel-nefisef-spo)_

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue translations:
> 
>   * “Mohrn -- Ha-tal. Hatanik torek ik nam-tor bolayatik rompotau h’akiv” = Subgroup: Biology. The organic processes that are necessary to maintain life.
>   * “Di’kish-torek” = Metabolism.
>   * “Betau shaht t’halovaya” = Approaching destination (literally “end of journey”).
>   * “Vuhlkansu Trahokna t’Ralash-tanaf” = Vulcan Institute of Musical Arts.
>   * “Thinoi du ish-veh wak, Spohkh. Ri tor nash-veh dva-tor ish kup komihn ken-tor **mash*** heh **u’bal**** svi’ Vuhlkansu ralash-tanaf” = You are wasting your time, Spock. I do not believe that a human can understand the subtlety and restraint in Vulcan music.  
>  **[I came up with the words in bold.] *subtlety **restraint**
>   * “Nam-tor du yeht sos’eh. Nam-tor nash-veh la’ oren-tor hi” = Perhaps you are right. But I am here to learn.
>   * “Ish olozhikaik” = That is logical.
>   * “Nam-tor du kanok-vei tor nash-vesh” = You are everything to me.
> 

> 
> Song translation: 
> 
> _Estuhl mos salan eshikh  
> _ A soft wind touches the desert
> 
>  _Hanuvau yel ne’fi’sef  
> _ The stars flicker down on the dunes
> 
>  _Spo’ ug’yel-shen abru’_ Shikhar  
> Like sunrise over Shikhar
> 
>  _Abru’teruklar-ru’lut ish-vesh n’a nash-veh  
> _ He smiles at me
> 
>  _Etek panu k’wuhli  
> _ We are worlds apart
> 
>  _Heh wi  
> _ And yet
> 
>  _Abru’teruklar-ru’lut ish-vesh n’a nash-veh  
> _ He smiles at me
> 
>  _Spo’ ug’yel-shen abru’_ Shikhar  
> Like sunrise over Shikhar
> 
> ° I started learning Vuhlkansu a while ago, and the [Vulcan Language Dictionary](https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/) has been very helpful throughout the years.


End file.
